Zhia gave the Farlan assassin a stern look. 'In that case we should keep an eye open.' She looked thoughtful for a moment. 'But this might be a useful distraction. I shall get one of the Jester acolytes to make the threat appear real. They are skilled enough to narrowly fail, and playing the assailed sovereign will keep Siala busy.'
The Jesters, the sons of Death, made their home in the deepest part of the Elven Waste where they were worshipped as Gods by the local tribes. They demanded martial excellence from their followers, very like the original Raylin. Zhia had secured the services of six of their acolytes, half-brothers, sons of some chieftain. She spent most evenings walking the night streets with them. They were skilled and loyal warriors, and perfect for the more delicate spying missions.
'Which reminds me,' Zhia continued after a pause, 'one of our aco¬lytes – I forget which one; it is starting to annoy me that they refuse to give their names, and the white masks make them all look alike – but whichever it was, he said last night that they are noting a number of illegal entries into the city. Since this is not their city, they do not care, but they felt they should inform me.'
'So there really are assassins in the city?' Aras asked.
'One would presume so. The interested parties will be augmenting their own households. King Emin won't be able to keep his sticky little paws out, and the Farlan consider this their territory. The only questions are whether the Devoted are going to bring a significant presence to the table, and who else might get involved. Are the Menin also gathering intelligence this far north? If I were in charge in Circle City or Raland 1 would certainly have put some agents in play.'
'Yet with all this going on, still you find time for your little project, this theatre in Six Temples?' Haipar didn't try to hide the snap in her voice.
'Which remains as mysterious as ever,' Zhia said pointedly. 'There have been rumours of hauntings throughout that district, a number of out-of-the-ordinary murders-'
Does that mean out-of-the-ordinary by the standards of your own daily routine?' Haipar continued.
Zhia raised an eyebrow and Aras half rose from his seat, hand on his rapier's hilt. 'Haipar, do I detect a note of displeasure in your voice?' Zhia asked smoothly, motioning for Aras to sit back down.
He glared at Haipar, but they all knew the threat was empty
though he could best Haipar with a blade, she wouldn't bother with a sword; her own claws would have split him groin to gizzard almost before he'd drawn his weapon. His magic-imposed loyalty to Zhia was not so great that he would test Haipar in her lioness form. He had no false illusions there.
'Well, you did turn the head of the Prefecture – I wouldn't think we have to look too far to explain unusual deaths.'
'I Ie is under control, I assure you. As for your personal feelings about vampires-' Zhia started.
'You know I don't give a damn about them – except when they couId cause us difficulties,' Haipar replied hotly. 'You know better than anyone how they can suddenly snap – if they can't withstand the pressure of the change, they explode into murder.'
'And I repeat: it is under control,' said Zhia, very quietly.
Legana sighed; she couldn't understand why Haipar kept prodding; Zhia's anger was not to be taken lightly but the Raylin was constantly argumentative whenever the subject of the theatre came up.
Zhia rose gracefully and walked to the windows. 'These deaths have nothing to do with me or my breed. There is something else afoot. The acolytes have been watching the theatre. This company doesn't spend much time rehearsing, but the players have made some interesting contacts amongst Scree's criminal element. And surely you hive heard the tales of the Dark Man who walks the streets, snatching children – in the slums, of course, but nonetheless, the result is a state of panic in four districts of this city.'
'And you should attend to this personally?' Haipar muttered.
Zhia leaned forward in her seat. 'This is a situation I do not under¬stand. I have lived for millennia; I have founded half a dozen cities, and I've lost count of those I have ruled. Believe me when I say it is rare that I do not understand something.'
Her companions all subconsciously moved back at the frosty tone of her voice.
'What do you want to do?' Aras asked, hoarsely.
Zhia turned suddenly and beamed. 'To do? I want us to go to dinner now, and afterwards, you may accompany me to the theatre's first night for a little culture – I suspect the experience will be illuminating.'
'What meat is this, Mayel?' The abbot was looking quizzically at the lump of indeterminate meat in his spoon.
The young man grimaced, his own spoon halfway to his mouth, and tried to avoid the abbot's gaze. 'Rabbit, Father. Good rabbit stew.'
The abbot took another tentative mouthful. 'Are you sure?'
Of course I'm sure it's not rabbit, you stupid old bastard. You should be glad it's actually dog, considering what some folk are eating these days. He shrugged. 'The butcher told me it was rabbit, Father, but folk are saying that food's getting scarce. If this heat continues, who knows what we'll be dining on soon.'
The abbot didn't press the point. He was too tired. This summer was the hottest anyone could remember, and every day the heat sapped more strength from the abbot's frail body. Whatever magic he was doing in the cellar of their tumbledown house, it was compounding the problem, and if he were not careful, he would run himself into the grave. It was always the old ones who went first, collapsing in the street, never to get up again.
These days they ventured outside only after the sun had gone down, and even so, it was still humid enough to bring on a sweat. Mayel wiped his face on his sleeve again, but it didn't have much effect, for his clothes were sodden with perspiration. That was about the only thing about the monastery he did miss, fresh habits to wear – even if it was the novices who did the cleaning. He took another mouth¬ful of dog stew. Suddenly life in the monastery didn't seem all that awful.
'I did hear some interesting gossip from the butcher though,' he piped up, hoping conversation would stop them focusing on the grim stew. 'Some madman is saying the prophecy of the Flower of the Waste has been fulfilled; that the tribesmen in the Elven Waste have joined under a king and have marched on the Elves – or the Siblis, the butcher wasn't sure which. Not that he thought it was really true – but he did swear that he'd had it on good authority that the Devoted have started fighting amongst themselves. The Knight-Cardinal ordered troops from Embere to attack their forces in Raland, and Telith Vener was waiting for them. Word is that Vener would have wiped them out if it hadn't been for a third Devoted army that stopped it all and forced the Knight-Cardinal's troops to return to Embere.'
'And why is that interesting exactly? The squabblings of soldiers means nothing to me, and should not to you either.'
Mayel suppressed a sigh at the abbot's stern tone of voice; he could feel another lecture about attending to the divine coming on. 'But Father, we're not in the monastery at the moment, and these are dan¬gerous times. I heard that the Farlan might invade, that the city might become a battle-ground-'
'Pay no heed to what you might hear in a butcher-shop,' the abbot repeated. 'You would do better to spend a little more time here in prayer than gossiping in the street or running errands for your cousin.'
'We have to pay for his help somehow,' Mayel replied hotly. Mayel knew he had proved himself invaluable to the abbot, securing much of what he needed on credit with Shandek. He doubted the abbot would have lasted a week without him; mage or no, you couldn't protect yourself from a knife in the back day and night. 'I've been clerking for him to repay him for the use of this house and the protection he's give us.'
'You are paying him for this ruin? You almost killed yourself going upstairs,' the abbot grumbled, looking at the state of the wall beside him. Mayel had grown to loathe that pinched expression. Since the heal had taken over, the abbot had been impossible to please, despite Mayel's best efforts.